


Take All the Courage You Have Left

by MG12CSI16



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Cancer, Gen, Hopeful Sam, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dean, Sick Sam, caring Cas, not wincest, paper cranes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MG12CSI16/pseuds/MG12CSI16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because if he was even a remotely good brother (and he likes to think that he is), he would try and save him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take All the Courage You Have Left

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly based on Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes. Full of angst and brotherly love with an appearance by Castiel. I don't own the show or the story, I'm just borrowing.

He hadn’t even known Sam knew anything about origami until he came in after the first round of chemo. He had strolled in with a cup of coffee (if you could even call it that) from the cafeteria and his eyes had immediately gone to the blue piece of paper being shaped by the normally gruff and calloused hands that suddenly looked so gentle. Dean had managed to huff out a laugh, a teasing tone mixing in with his words in an attempt to make this feel like real life and not the nightmare it had turned into. He sat down in the chair next to the bed with a tired groan and ignored the obvious exhaustion in his brother’s eyes as he nodded toward his creation.

“Really Sammy, origami? Were they out of knitting supplies or what?”                  

Sam had just smiled in return, rolling his eyes and muttering something about a story of a thousand paper cranes and a wish and Dean felt his heart lurch at the look of useless hope etched onto his face. He had given up on faith and hope a long time ago and the results had left behind a bitter and cold man whose only goal in life was to protect Sam and the world. But, he remembers, chiding himself mentally, whatever makes Sam happy. If it were necessary he would spend the rest of his life talking about ancient Japanese stories and folding countless pieces of paper as long as his brother smiled.

And for a while that’s what they did.

Soon though, the days began to blur together and Dean found himself failing to remember small details, the conversations they had and the stories Sam would tell. He does however, remember the talks with the doctors, hushed whispers above Sam’s bed as he slept and the chemo raged through his veins. He remembers when the older nurse with kind eyes that sometimes reminds Dean of their mother had taken a short leave and was no longer able to supply Sam with the origami paper he had grown attached to.

He remembers walking through the city (he had taken Sam back to South Dakota as soon as they got a diagnosis and Bobby became the only person they could count on) looking for any store that sold craft supplies and finding a tiny shop at the end of the street. He bought the entire supply of paper (Sam loved colors, they brightened up the dreary room) and the woman at the register had raised an eyebrow at him before he had the chance to explain.

“They’re for my brother…we’re trying to fold a thousand paper cranes.”

As soon as the words had left his lips her brown eyes had softened and she had even gone to the lengths of patting his hand as she handed him his change. Dean had forced a smile but inside his blood was boiling with anger. He hated that people pitied him, hated that people pitied Sam. It did nothing to help him and the irony that Dean had once sold his soul for his baby brother to live only to have him ripped away by a disease that had no cure was slowly eating at him. He was withering away almost as fast as Sam and it scared the shit out of him.

Eventually Sam had convinced him to start folding the cranes with him and he remembers being flustered that his fingers, with the ability to be soft and nimble when he made love had the ability to be heavy and clumsy when he tried shaping the paper Sam had shoved his way. The wrinkled green crane had become the highlight of that evening, even earning a spot on the bedside table next to the rest of them.

By the time a month had passed he and Sam had sixty folded cranes (sixty eight with Bobby’s rumpled contributions). He was slowly becoming weaker, exhaustion interrupting most of their conversations and eventually it wasn’t a surprise when Sam would fall asleep in the middle of a sentence, a word. It’s around that time that Bobby constantly finds Dean hunched over open text books about Japanese fairytales with a half empty bottle of Jack next to him.

There is one day; however, that Dean doesn’t think he’ll forget. It’s past visiting hours he knows but the nurse on duty must see the desperation etched onto his face like the ever present lines that had seemed to appear out of nowhere and the exhaustion and pain in his eyes because she merely turns around and pretends not to notice when Dean slips past her and down the hall to Sam’s room.

He’s looking at the ground when he walks through the door but when he looks up a figure is standing over the bed, their back to him and he’s suddenly on instant defense. The trench coat, however, gives away the identity and Dean feels his breath hitch when ice blue eyes are suddenly looking at him and the hair on the back of his neck is standing at attention.

“Hello Dean.”

The monotone voice cuts through the ice surrounding his heart, has his blood pumping so fast he can hear it in his ears as the blush reaches his cheeks and his chest is heaving with the desperate attempt to keep his voice low. He is in no mood for screwing around.

“What are you doing here Cas?”

“I came to see Sam…to see _you_.”

Dean scoffs, running a hand over the stubble he hadn’t cared to shave over the past few weeks (Sam loves to tease him about it, he considers it payback for years of endless harassment about his hair). His head is throbbing and his throat was dry, stomach churning from the whiskey and lack of food. He blinks and looks back at Cas, still standing stoic over Sam and no longer looking at the older Winchester. Dean bites his lip as he clears his throat.

“Can’t you do something?” he finally asks as he comes to stand on the other side of the bed.

He looks down at his sleeping brother and his deathly pale skin that seems nearly translucent by now. When he finally tears his eyes away Cas is staring at him with a look Dean has seen a thousand times before and he’s almost sure it’s going to kill him.

“You, Dean, of all people, should know that I can’t.”

Of course he knows, he knew before the question even had the chance to roll off his tongue and fling itself into the center of the room for consideration. But he also knows that Sam is dying and if he was even a remotely good brother (he likes to think that he is) he would take the chance and ask. His attention eventually shifts from his brother and back to Cas, who’s picked up Dean’s wrinkled crane and twirls it between his fingers (there are over a hundred of them now). He holds it up to Dean and he just laughs.

“Sammy found this story back when he was a kid that says if you folds a thousand paper cranes you get a wish and one day I walked in here and he had his heart set on getting it done. At the rate we’re going though I doubt we’ll get there but hey, it’s worth a shot.”

He shrugs but he can see the faint smile tugging at Cas’ lips before he sets the crane back down and sighs. He doesn’t even look at him.

“I’m sorry Dean. I really am.”

And just like that he’s gone, nothing but empty space where he had been standing just seconds ago. Dean ignores the sudden hollow feeling in his chest and settles into the chair beside the bed, watching the rise and fall of Sam’s chest until he can’t keep his eyes open any longer.

He wakes up to the sound of Sam’s voice, excited and filled with more life than he had heard in weeks. He cracks open his eyes against the sunlight streaming through the cheap blinds, head throbbing and back aching but when he catches sight of the room in front of him he bolts upright. It’s filled with paper cranes in all colors and sizes, covering every last surface including Sam’s bed and some are even suspended from the ceiling. The younger Winchester is propped up against a few pillows, admiring the ocean of brightly colored paper and beaming at Dean with a smile he thought disappeared with that first round of chemo.

There had to be more than a thousand he thought, reaching out and picking up a smaller one sitting right on the edge of the bed and letting it rest in the palm of his hand. His mind was swirling with possibilities, knowing it was impossible for one person to fold all these cranes in one night until he saw a piece of paper on the table covered with familiar slanted scrawl and he can’t fight the first real smile that tugs at his lips in what seems like years.

_I cannot heal Sam for you but I can make him happy. –Cas_

* * *

There isn’t a lot Dean remembers from those few long months.

He does remember countless hours folding cranes, reading stories to Sam until it was nearly impossible to keep his eyes open. He remembers the night Cas had come and the thousand cranes that had magically appeared overnight. But the one thing he remembers most of all is the day the doctor comes in and for once there’s a smile on his face. He remembers the words _remission_ and _miracle_ , the look on Sam’s face and the tears that welled in both of their eyes as he collapsed back into his chair and Sam’s hand is being squeezed by his own.

Dean watches Sam walk out of the hospital two days later, still weak but eyes bright with a new determination he hadn’t had for a long time.  He carries his paper cranes in a bag one of the nurses had given him but there are so many that in the end both he and Bobby are carrying a bag as well and they pile them in the back seat of the Impala before Sam slides into the passenger’s seat like old times.

While he knows things won’t immediately return to the way they were he’s happy watching Sam work towards the life he used to have. Gradually his hair gets longer and the color is returned to his skin. He keeps himself busy with work Bobby finds him around the yard, refusing to stray too far from Sam no matter how much he complains.

It doesn’t take long though for Sam to grow restless, months of being cooped up in a hospital followed by an extended stay in Bobby’s living room taking his toll on him quicker than Dean anticipated. So on a day when the older man isn’t around to worry and chide them like the children they sometimes are he takes Sam out into the yard and it doesn’t take long before the younger Winchester is elbows deep in grease and metal.

Dean is halfway through his third beer when something on the other side of the yard catches his attention, a dark head of hair and a trench coat standing out amongst the sea of rusted cars. The angel makes no attempt to approach them, hands stuffed in his pockets as he keeps his eyes trained on the brothers but Dean manages to catch his gaze before he can look away and he mouths the two words that have been burning the tip of his tongue since that morning after.

“Thank you.”  


End file.
